


Laying Low

by drneroisgod



Category: Leverage, Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Gen, Murder, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:20:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drneroisgod/pseuds/drneroisgod
Summary: When Parker is spending a season apart from the rest of the Leverage crew, she witnesses a murder—and finds herself solving it with a psychic detective and his best friend. (And she hates psychics!)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 63
Collections: 2019 Leverage Secret Santa Exchange





	1. A Murder

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keenir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keenir/gifts).



The in-between time was coming to a close. The text was brief, and therefore from Nate. _My place, 12/1. We have a job._

Parker knew better than to text back to ask about Christmas. And though there was a good chance Nate would pick up the phone if she called, she didn’t want to worry him. She’d tell him everything in two days.

Parker sipped a museum coffee and walked up and down the aisles of Dick’s Sporting Goods. As with the museum, she could have stolen anything she wanted, but she did not. 

An employee noticed her wandering. “Can I help you with anything?” 

“Just browsing,” Parker smiled back, generating three or four lies in case he pressed further. _My son joined the soccer team. My husband needs a hunting knife. I want to go rock climbing. My kayak is wearing out._

But no, she was left alone, which was her preference and the reason she was shopping here and not one of the local tourist shops. 

She peered out the second-story window absently when she saw it happen. On the second floor of the bank across the street, the flash of a gun, the shadow of a body falling. She was too far away to hear, but she’d been in this business long enough to know what she’d seen. 

She dialed 911. “Hello? I need to report a murder.”

Parker could have entered the bank through the front door and the general chaos would have given her enough cover, but where would be the fun in that? She refrained from her usual cry of joy as she jumped off the roof of Dick’s and made her way to the bank, but already she felt the thrill of being back in action. The master thief scaled the next building and swung over the street, rolling onto the gravel atop the bank and jumping to her feet. She brushed the dust from her clothes and walked to the stairwell door. 

After that, it was easy. Pick the lock. Go down to the second floor. Slide some tortoiseshell reading glasses off the desk along with the mail. Borrow a red blazer from an empty desk. Slip into the bathroom and tuck her flannel deep into her bag, pull her hair into a high pony, slap on a layer of too-bright lipstick, don the blazer and tuck the glasses in the pocket. 

Parker surveyed herself in the mirror—a young professional, ready to go. She winced at her Doc Martens. Sophie would have winced too. But she’d make it work.

Parker went down the stairs, where the first police officers were walking through the door. 

“Excuse me,” she said, walking directly towards the person who looked most in charge. “My name is Alice White—I’m a private detective with the bank. I’ve been called over to observe your investigation.”

“Fine, fine,” the officer rolled his eyes. “I’m Officer Colt, head of the investigation. Have you been to the scene yet?”

“No, not at all,” Parker replied.

“Then you can stand with the other private detectives until we’re done collecting evidence from the vault.”

“Sounds good to me,” Parker said, pivoting slightly to lead the way upstairs, but the officer surprised her by heading further into the bank. Confused, she followed. “I’m sorry, I heard the body was found upstairs.”

“Some samaritan reported that over the phone, but we don’t know what they were talking about. Body’s in the vault.”

Uniformed officers crowded a plain wooden door, two standing guard and the rest trotting in and out bearing tagged fibers and grim expressions. 

“Those two are the P.I.’s my boss called in,” Colt said, gesturing to two men standing to the side. “You can view the scene when they do.”

“Please, Officer Colt!” The man on the right—white, early thirties, probably not a threat—pursed his lips almost childishly. “I must be able to look at the scene untouched! It interrupts my flow!”

“This ain’t Santa Barbara, Spencer,” Colt shrugged. “I may have to work with you, but you’re going to do it on my terms. Wait here until the all-clear.”

Colt left Parker without another word. 

“Hello, I’m Alice White,” she said politely, forcing a smile. “I’m the bank’s private investigator. You work with the police?”

“We’re on loan from Interpol,” Spencer replied, shaking her hand firmly. “From the DVDs.”

“Oh!” Parker forced her smile harder. If these two were from Interpol, then Jim Sterling couldn’t be far behind. He never was.

“Don’t listen to him.” The other man—blacker, smoother, balder—extended his hand to shake. “I’m Burton Guster, and this is Shawn Spencer. Most of the time we work with the police in Santa Barbara. We’re only in Canada to help a friend.”

“How nice,” Parker replied. “I’m sure the bank will be happy to have another set of eyes on the problem.”

Shawn turned to Gus. "You know, I have beautiful eyes. I think that's why Dana Greer had a crush on me in third grade."

Gus clucked. "Shawn, Dana Greer swooned over these silky brown peepers, and I won't hear another word about it."

"Peepers?"

"Peepers, Shawn!"

"So you confess, you peeped in the girl's restroom? I knew it!"

Parker tuned out much of the next fifteen minutes—she couldn’t quite follow what Shawn and Gus were talking about, and, for that matter, she didn’t much care. She had to think.

Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten involved. That would be Archie’s take—”get in and get out, kiddo.” It’s all well and good to report a murder, as long as you’re already in the getaway car.

Nate would stay, and so would Sophie. They would like the mystery. Eliot and Hardison would leave. They would like paying their respects to the family in a different way.

Parker didn’t even like crime dramas on television. But perhaps it was too late to back out now.

“Spencer, Guster, White, you’re up!” Colt shouted. 

Shawn charged ahead, leaving an exasperated Gus to smile apologetically at Alice.

“I know this is your job, but he’s pretty good at what he does.”

“Has he been a private investigator for long?”

“Not a private investigator—a psychic detective,” Gus corrected.

Parker didn’t hear what he said next. Blood pumped through her ears and she felt her airways cinch closed. By some miracle she put one foot in front of the other, but the mask had already slipped. 

“You okay, Ms. White?” Gus asked. “You don’t look so good.”

 _Psychics_. They were the worst people on earth. Worse than murderers, even. 

“I’m all right,” Parker said. “I’ve just never seen a murder victim before.”

This was not true. 

She walked into the vault. The body was a that of a man approaching middle age. There was a bullet hole in the center of his forehead.

“Curtis Washington, branch manager. We think he was stealing from the bank to cover gambling debts,” Colt said. “And somebody got tired of it.”

At a glance, Parker knew this: no one had tried to break into the vault, but someone had done a sloppy job of putting away the cash shipment bags; the vault had been left unlocked; and the victim had not been stealing from the bank. She also knew the body had been moved. Why? That remained a mystery.

“Everyone shush!” Shawn warbled, falling to his knees. His hand twiddled next to his ear. “This man wasn’t stealing from the bank. In fact, his only debt was a mortgage he was almost done paying off!”

Parker clenched her fists, and reminded herself of the things her friends had assured her the last time. He was reading the scene, just like she was. He was lying. 

“He had casino chips in his pocket,” Colt sneered.

Gus furrowed his brow. “And that makes you an authority on his net worth?” 

“This body has been moved,” Shawn continued, ignoring them. “The killer was trying to hide her true motives.”

“This is a robbery gone wrong,” Colt said firmly. “And the video evidence is going to prove that.”

“Not unless I prove differently!” Shawn said sharply. 

“Get out.” 

Parker lingered, looking for any last clue that could help her. She knew something was off. 

“Obviously we’ll try to close this case as soon as possible.” Colt looked Parker in the eyes. “We’ll be in close communication with the bank about anything we learn during our investigation.”

“We appreciate that,” Parker said pleasantly—giggling, even. “Now, I’m going to go have to write a report about it. Thank you for your service.”

A doubtful lip sticking out, Parker walked back to the stairs. The branch manager had not been killed due to a robbery by any stretch of the imagination. But had there been one murder, or two? Parker walked back up to the second floor, looking for Dick’s Sporting Goods out the window.

She walked into the room, looking for any sign of a struggle.

“See, Gus? I told you she’d return to the scene of the crime.”


	2. The Mystery

Parker nearly jumped out of her skin, pivoting on her toes with fists raised, the way Eliot had shown her. 

“Are you telling me you brought me up here to confront the murderer?” Gus hissed at Shawn, flushing with anger. “What were you thinking, Shawn?”

“I’m not the killer!” Parker shot back, fists still raised.

“You’re not a private detective either.” Shawn jabbed a finger. “You’re a bank robber!”

“Shhhhhhh!” Parker hissed.

Gus glared at his friend. “Are you kidding me, Shawn?”

Parker sneered. “Well, you’re not a psychic! Psychics aren’t real!”

“That hurts my feelings,” Shawn said plaintively.

“Wait, stop. You’re not the killer, but you are a bank robber?” Gus said. “Why are you here?”

“I wasn’t robbing this bank. I was the person who called 9-1-1 from across the street. And I know that the victim was shot in this room. Or one of the victims, anyway.”

“There was only one murder,” Shawn replied. “Like I said, the body was moved.”

Parker crossed her arms. “I knew it! And I also knew that he wasn’t robbing the bank. Because I’m smart, too. I can see things.” She pressed an index finger to her temple, as if to prove this fact.

Outside, the sound of Officer Colt’s brick-laid voice approached. 

“Come with us,” Shawn said urgently. “If we exchange notes, maybe we can solve this.”

“I don’t like psychics,” Parker said.

“Well, as a rule, we don’t like bank robbers,” Gus replied, lips pursed.

Shawn opened the fire exit. “Oh, come on!” 

Parker hated psychics. She also knew that if Nate were here making the calls, he wouldn’t call it quits now.

This was how she ended up introducing herself as Alice White, bank investigator, to Joseph Morales, the armored car driver who had delivered cash for the bank earlier that day.

“Shawn Spencer, psychic detective,” Shawn added, wagging his eyebrows seductively. “Tragic, what happened, isn’t it?”

“Um, yeah,” Morales said. “Curtis was a nice guy.”

“The police think he had gambling debts,” Gus said. “You ever hear anything about that?”

Morales snorted. “Not likely. That was one meticulous dude. I’d be surprised if he still owed money on his house.”

“It looked like somebody was in a rush earlier when they put the cash shipment bags away,” Parker said gruffly, doing her best to look steely and tough and permitting herself a slightly southern twang.

“What are you doing?” Gus asked under his breath.

Parker raised her voice. “You know anything about that? Buster?”

Morales gave Parker a long look. “Yeah, I was running late for my next job. I guess it meant we were a little sloppy. Do you want to know anything else? This isn’t doing my route any favors.”

They stopped for lunch.

“We need to look at that video tape,” Gus said.

“So that you can pretend to be psychic later?” Parker sat up straighter.

“Listen, Alice,” Shawn said gently. “It’s okay that you’re not a believer. Even Gus isn’t a believer. But wouldn’t  _ you _ like to see the video?”

She did. She considered mentioning that she could text a friend who could send it to them without having to set down his orange soda. She held back.

“We should also interview the market manager and the assistant manager,” she said reluctantly. 

Gus sipped his iced tea. “Not sure you should go back into the bank, with your record.”

Parker shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s not a crime to visit.”

Parker did not tell Victoria Clark, market manager, that she was a bank investigator. If Victoria Clark got the impression that Parker was a psychic detective, that was her business.

“Curtis was a great employee,” she said. “He’d been with the company nearly fifteen years.”

“Did he have a problem with anyone at the bank?” Parker asked.

“He and Joseph Morales, our cash delivery guy, didn’t get along. Joseph has the tendency to be late, I’m afraid. But they tried to be friendly with one another.”

“I sense that you and Curtis ran into each other socially shortly before his death,” Shawn said. “The Lime Twist club?”

Victoria Clark smiled. “It’s such a small town, it’s no wonder we end up in all the same haunts. He did seem upset that night, but I didn’t ask.”

“Thanks for your time, Mrs. Clark,” Gus said graciously.

Gus met with the assistant manager, Ewan Clark, alone. 

“I bet it’s him,” he told his compatriots with a conspiratorial dignity.

Parker and Shawn offered Gus accepting stares, then snuck into a storage room and hacked the network.

“Victoria did it,” Parker said.

“Yes,” Shawn said. “She’s involved in drug trafficking. He probably caught her at it in the club.”

“Your psychic powers don’t tell you?” Parker asked sarcastically.

“I choose not to answer that,” Shawn replied. “Why haven’t you texted anyone today?”

“What?” Parker asked, caught off guard.

“You keep reaching for your phone,” Shawn said. “You have been, all day. But you always stop yourself. Who aren’t you talking to?”

Parker was silent. She knew that he was not performing his psychic persona on purpose. He told her how he knew. He was trying. To be her friend? Maybe. She already had four friends. And Peggy.

“My team,” Parker said. “I mean, my friends. We’re laying low.”

“I’m not texting my dad,” Shawn offered. “He thinks our missions with Interpol are ridiculous and a waste of time.”

“Sounds fun.”

“He’s not. Not even a little.” Shawn said. “But that’s my dad for you.”

“My friends aren’t like that,” Parker said. “They don’t think the things I like are fun, I guess. But they look out for me.”

Shawn was silent. Parker wondered if his dad and Nate had anything in common. 

Parker forced herself to continue. "You remind me of them. You and Gus."

"You must love them very much," Shawn observed. "If you're hanging out with us, it means you miss them more than you hate psychics."

"Ugh! Now you're looking into my head?" Parker groaned.

"Just reflecting," Shawn explained. "I'm also a classically-trained psychologist."

"No you're not," Parker said under her breath. Then, louder: "This is how they did it. They glued a bunch of coin boxes together to cover the body as they moved it through the bank.”

“Well,” Shawn said. “I guess now it’s time to make a scene. Do you have Colt’s number?”

“I have his deputy’s phone,” Parker said, pulling it from her pocket.

Shawn appraised Parker with more respect than he had before.

“You’re not sticking around?”

Parker handed Shawn the phone, then the spare earbud she had. “I’ll be listening. I have another job to do. It might be better if you don’t know.”


	3. The Morning After

Parker found it hard not to laugh as she picked the lock to the Lime Twist Club’s back door. It was still too early for the club to be open, but early enough for staff to hang around. Parker kept quiet, wandering through the back, looking for the safe.

“I’m having a vision!” Shawn proclaimed, his voice loud and clear over comms. “Joseph Morales and Victoria Clark were partners!”

“Man, I’m no killer!” Morales shouted.

“I feel something in my nose!” Maybe he was bent over, holding his nose. Maybe he was upright. Parker wasn’t sure. He had a flair for the dramatic. Nate would never hire him. “Sniffing, snorting… cocaine! Victoria Clark! It was you! You were taking cocaine the day before he was killed!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He was going to report you. Maybe. You didn’t know, did you? Oh, and the glue, the glue!”

“Huffing glue, Spencer?” Colt growled. “This is ridiculous.”

“No,” Shawn moaned. “Gluing boxes! Coin boxes! A deadly art project to hide the body!”

“I have it here!” Gus cried. It was hard to imagine someone carrying an unwieldy cardboard tower with dignity, so Parker didn’t imagine Gus with any, either. 

Victoria Clark never said a word. Morales did. The click of handcuffs wasn’t as satisfying long-distance, but it was enough. 

She found the safe. She tickled its tumblers, whispered the magic word to make it open. With gloved hands, she took what she needed. She’d plant it in Victoria’s home on the way back. She wouldn’t be the only criminal going down tonight.

It wasn’t quite the heist she would pull off with the team, but it was enough.

“Shawn?” she said. “I’m going to need that earbud before I leave the country.”

“Hey.”

“How did it go?”

“Two arrests, as we expected. Another Interpol mission under our belts. We’re very proud.’

“Do you really work for Interpol?”

“Yes, from the DVDs.”

“You know a man named Sterling?”

“No, should I?”

“No. But if you do… don’t tell him you saw me. That’s all. Where’s Gus?”

“Packing. He’s all upset that we might ‘miss our flight’ or something.”

“Back to Santa Barbara?”

“Yeah. Got another mystery to solve. And my dad needs me to keep him company. He’d die of loneliness without me.”

“Sure.”

“You aren’t really the sharing type, are you?”

“Most bank robbers aren’t. Besides, you’re psychic. You already know.”

“Yeah, but you don’t get to someone by already filling in the blanks.”

“Are you asking me to be your friend? Because if you are… I need to think about it.”

“Take your time. I’ll send you a Christmas card.”

“I’ll send you some jewels I stole in Saudi Arabia last year.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You have mail, Parker.” Hardison handed Parker an envelope with a Santa sticker on the back. 

Parker ripped open the envelope, pleased to see Shawn’s smiling face front and center on the Christmas card. Beside him, Gus looked serious and handsome—maybe even a little annoyed. In bright blue letters were the words, “Merry Christmas from Psych!” 

“Who are they?” Nate said, peering over Parker’s shoulder.

“Just some friends from Santa Barbara,” Parker replied, suddenly shy. She hadn’t told them about her vacation. No one ever talked much about what they did during the breaks.

“I have a cousin in Santa Barbara,” Eliot said, pulling his head out of a cupboard and wiping his hands on his apron. “It’s a nice place.”

Parker slipped the Christmas card into her bag before Eliot could see. “Really? I’ve never been.”

Nate exchanged a glance with Sophie when he thought Parker wasn’t looking. Let him wonder, Parker thought.  _ If he really wants to know, he can ask _ . 


End file.
